New kid in town
by ds96
Summary: Sam once again finds himself the new kid at his high school. Unfortunately, he also finds himself the target of the local gang of bullies. Dean is 21 and Sam is 16. Plenty of protective/brotherly Dean and hurt/young Sam. Reviews appreciated!


**Hey guys, I know this chapter is majorly short but I really wanted to finish the first chapter without developing the story any further. So don't worry, the future chapters will be longer. Please review and tell me what you like/don't like to help provide me with some direction for the story. Thanks to everyone who's reading!**

Sam's eyesight was going a little blurry from looking at all the road signs passing by with speed. He blinked a little and looked away out the front windscreen.

John was driving, concentrating hard in order to keep himself awake. He'd switched on the aircon in an attempt to keep himself conscious, and, despite the bitter cold inside the car, Sam didn't dare protest. It certainly beat the alternative; that is, lying dead in a ditch because John couldn't stay awake. So he kept his mouth shut, and watched the cars and signs and trees passing by in a flash, lit only by the occasional dim, orange road light and the bright headlights on the front of the impala.

Dean was snoring loudly with his head hanging over the side of the passenger seat next to John. His mouth was gaping open and Sam could make out a small trickle of dribble hanging off his chin.

_Gross_

Sam figured the only reason John hadn't ripped Dean to pieces for his snoring was because it was keeping him awake, so he thought it best he didn't intervene either. John turned up the radio that was playing a _Metallica _song, and leant forward, practically resting his chin on the steering wheel.

Sam glanced at the clock – 1:13am – and decided to get some rest. There were still a few hours left to go before they arrived in Illinois, and he wasn't sure if he was going to be going on the hunt this time or not. He shut his eyes and leant against the window, shivering from the cold, and drifted into a slumber.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Hey, sleeping beauty, time to get up" Dean laughed from the front seat. Sam groggily opened his eyes and poked his tongue out at Dean

"Shut it, I'm awake"  
"Ooh touchy, touchy" he tormented sarcastically

Sam laughed in unison with Dean and stepped out of the car onto the pavement. His legs were still asleep and he had to grip the roof of the car to keep himself propped up.

He sighed, _another motel._ Not that he'd expected different, but the sight of dodgy half-broken neon signs showing that there was vacancy was starting to make Sam sick to the stomach. John chucked Sam's duffle at his feet as he carried his own and a separate bag containing his laptop and a few other odds and ends into the reception. Sam and Dean waited by the car for John to return, and Dean cracked open a bottle of beer.  
"Jeez Dean you're already turning into an alcoholic" Sam scoffed

"Hey, give me a break buddy, I'm just enjoying my newfound liberty"  
Sam laughed; Dean had turned 21 two months ago, in January, and had since been loving the fact that he could legally drink. Of course, legalities had never stopped him in the past, but he seemed to enjoy how old it made him feel.

John headed back from reception carrying a key in his hand and the boys quickly followed behind him, entering into room 36.

"Not too shabby, not too shabby" Dean remarked in his sarcastic voice that Sam heard all-too-often.

The room certainly was shabby; three single beds lay side by side against the right wall, which was draped in some horrible, 1970s looking wallpaper. The other side of the room consisted of a torn up couch facing the small box that was the television, and in the corner a bench about a metre wide stood next to a bar fridge and a plastic table and some chairs.

This didn't really bother the Winchesters, they were all used to it. All Sam could remember since he was a kid was living in and out of motel rooms, and the closest thing they had to a home was probably Bobby's. Dean, however, had fond memories of a place he once called home, and this only made staying the motels worse.

Sam was last to claim a bed, and so was left with the one in the middle, between his father and brother's. Sam was a little disappointment at their dwellings for the next few weeks, but accepted it nonetheless, mostly because he knew there was no alternative. John still had no idea what it was he was hunting, which meant they were going to be here a while, at least a month. John figured he may as well enroll Sam in a school for the time being, its not like Sam was getting any smarter. So, the next day Sam would be beginning his schooling at the local high school. The town wasn't big, but it wasn't small either, so he was glad to expect that he'd be able to blend in without being noticed.

Dean immediately dropped onto the couch and switched on the TV, and Sam sat on the opposite side to join him. John put on a warmer jacket and pulled out his wallet, dropping a 20 on the countertop next to the keys for the impala.

"Hey, I'm goin' out to meet Bobby, see if he can help me figure out what this thing is. I'll probably be gone a few days, call me if you need anything. And Dean, remember to drop Sam at school in the morning."  
"Yeah, sure thing". Dean responded without looking up from the television "Like he'd let me forget anyway" he joked.

"See you later boys"  
"Bye dad" the brothers responded simultaneously.  
"Oh and Dean, don't forget – salt lines" John added in sternly, pointing at Dean as he left. Dean nodded his head and gave his father a look that said _be careful._

A couple minutes after John left, Dean forced himself to stand up. "I'm goin' to the store to pick up a few things, you need anything?"

"Nope" Sam responded, and Dean picked up the keys to the car and the 20 dollar bill John had left on his way out the door.

Suddenly, Sam felt eerily unsafe. He was alone in the room, which was unprotected as Dean had just left to get some salt. He looked around for Dean's duffle, and when he found it, vigorously searched through it only to discover that Dean had in fact taken his gun.

Unsurprised, Sam tried to calm himself by exhaling and closing his eyes. Suspecting that he was just overreacting, has he so often did, Sam simply collected his silver pocket knife from his bag and tucked it into the back of his belt and sat back down on the couch, but switched off the television.

Indulging himself in some reading material, Sam was gladly distracted from his irrational paranoia. He was reading a copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird, _the book prescribed to his class at his last school, back in Minnesota, a few weeks ago. He wasn't sure if they'd still be studying it at his new school, or if they even did at all, but there was nothing on TV and he had to distract himself. Usually he would have something to do, like clean out the guns with Dean or some homework, but Sam was left totally free of obligations. Ordinarily this would be a good thing, but Sam hated it. It was an aspect of his life he found all to familiar, but he was stuck with it for now.

Sam impatiently looked at the clock, it was now half past eight and Dean still wasn't back – almost 40 minutes since he had left. That didn't seem right.

Dean was driving, and this town was too small to have a store any more than 5 or 10 minutes away, which meant Dean had either got himself lost or was in some sort of trouble. Sam tried to shut himself up. Surely this was just him overreacting again. It was no use; he couldn't get it off his mind anymore. He sighed impatiently and picked up his wallet, cell phone and the key to the room and walked out the door.


End file.
